


A Night Out, or year one

by Wertlos



Series: The Hanged Man's Haven [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:01:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wertlos/pseuds/Wertlos
Summary: Hawke and Co. make their way over to the hanged man to celebrate the deep roads expedition.





	1. Fenris

The Hanged Man seems to be in an even worse condition. Something Fenris hadn’t thought possible after his first visit. Corpses of small insects and grime had collected on his feet, a common result of walking anywhere in lowtown. The air stank of ale and desperation. He shouldn’t be here, there are too many unknowns. Tevinters could be hiding within the shadow the poor made homes out of down here. He thought of returning to the mansion, an evening of drinking, contemplation, and nightmares ready to welcome him with cold, familiar arms. Although, he had won the mansion through hard fought battle alongside Hawke, he felt the same lingering guilt ever since he had left Tevinter. He was an imposter, none of this was what he deserved out of his life. The glimmer of a dagger to his left snapped him out of his own thoughts though. A group of misshapen bandits had apparently been sizing him up for quite a while, he could see them still debating whether he was the tattooed elf they had heard of. A simple glance from the elf confirmed their fears. And they scurried down whatever hole they had crawled up from. He sighed, the paranoia was fatiguing and he no longer wanted it’s burden. Memories of Varric stopping a dagger wielding assassin from stabbing between his armor plates, Aveline throwing herself in front of him, or even of the abomination mending his wounds that he no longer needed to live that way, to be alone. Namely though, memories of Hawke filled his mind. He felt so wrong for greedily going back to those memories, she deserved so much better than him. Yet her thunderous eyes managed to still his mind, despite their nature. He almost regretted bringing the broadsword for a moment. Would they think less of him for coming to a place of levity fully armed? He shook his head, he was an elven fugitive. They shouldn’t care, if they do, then that’s their own fault. Once more, he turns his vision to hightown. Against his better judgement though, he heads into the bar.


	2. Isabela

Isabela's head spun in ways she hadn't felt since her ship had crashed, with her on it. Bottles of Kirkwall's worst were strung around the cramped room, only a few could own up to the claim of not being emptied to their last drop. Rooms in the hanged man were well aware of those who dwelled within and so they rejected the harsh judgement of the sun and the odd looks from Lowton’s residents. A younger elven man hung around her waist, occupying the job she had previously assigned to the blanket that now lay strewn across the line dresser in the room. She reluctantly pushed a dark skinned young woman out of the nook between her shoulder and head. The woman muttered a quick fuck you but found consolation in a lively young bartender with hair the color of qunari’s ass. Isabela lurched out of the king size mattress, almost getting tangled up in her clothes on the way. She grabbed her daggers hidden in quick reach during her slumber. Another debaucherous night leading to her sleeping the day away. She stretched, a smile forming across her face. Maker be damned, she wouldn’t have her life any other way; those remaining in the room missed their pirate lover as she made her way down to the tavern.


	3. Varric

The crowds’ eyes looked to Varric for more. He allows them to simmer for a moment, drinking in the anticipation.  
“So Hawke grabs the would be assassin by the hair and pulls the bastard in for a kiss.”  
The tavern residents pop their previously held anticipation in a raucous fashion with thunderous laughter. Ale is spilled as the hanged man’s frequent fliers smash their mugs together in hearty joy. Varric leans back in the chair, reaping the results of a well told story. Never one to  
leave his audience hanging, Varric clears his throat, the shouting and guffawing die but the smiles remain.  
Varric chuckles before continuing to recount the tale. “ The nug humper actually drops his dagger, I swear it must’ve been the only action he’d ever gotten the way he reacted.” Varric pauses, being swept into the wave of laughter for a moment. “Bianca and I are enjoying the spectacle and our lovely guard captain is failing to suppress giggles; nobody tell her about the giggling thing by the way. Anyways, Hawke inches her staff out from behind her and launches the bastard all the way out of the free marches!”  
Varric’s final words send the crowd rolling in the floor in tantrums of heavy laughter. Barmaids carefully navigate through the throngs of drunkards, a few grab at their legs and skirts as they pass. The seasoned ones stomp their inquisitive hands without so much as a glance down.  
The dwarf slides down from what might as well have been his throne. He catches a pint tossed to him in a mug kept cold just for him. Froth drips down onto his chest as he drinks, getting lost in the forest of hair. He glances at the around, wondering where Hawke is.


	4. Merrill/Anders

Lightning arcs out from the wooden staff, paralyzing the would be thief. He falls to the ground with a painful thud, some still billowing off of his leather armor.  
“So sorry,” mutters Merill as she lays the her staff against the wall. She steps over the bwo the bow the man dropped and kneels down beside him. Her fingers run through his hair, whatever grease was there previously has now been fried off. The cold hard floor has left a large bump on his noggin, she winces as her hand runs over it. She sighs, stands up, and grabs her staff in one hand the man’s collar in the other.  
“You should really find a new profession, I don’t think you’re very good at this one.”  
The man groans in response, Merrill pushes the door of her home open with the staff and continues to drag the man out into the alienage. Merrill’s eyes search the small community, pleading for anyone outside of their home to tell what exactly she should do with the man. She considered going to get Aveline but quickly realized that would be a lot of walking and dragging. Besides, she reasoned, he hadn’t stolen anything or gotten the chance to.  
“Making new friends Merrill?”  
Anders always comes out of darktown patting his tunic off, sometimes for dust, other times blood. He walked down the stairs to the alienage, stopping in his tracks when he sees the residue magic from Merrill’s little encounter.  
“Much as I enjoy electrocuting fools as the next guy, you should try to conceal your magic a bit better.”  
Merrill mostly tuned out his speeches now, she liked Anders but he claimed to understand more than he actually did.  
Afterall, who had the demon in them?


	5. Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for not updating in a while, been working on other things. I know which direction I want this story to go now though, so that's neat.

Varric hadn’t yet seen him, too preoccupied with his fans by the looks of it. Fear is didn’t belong here, he would not have been allowed so close to the company. He hated this part of himself, feeling inherently less than those around him. He sat up from his spot, making sure Varric’s eyes weren’t upon him and headed for the door. As per usual, it stuck on the first attempt, making a noise similar to Ander’s cats whenever he entered his abode. He turned back to see the patrons still laughing and yelling, but a certain dwarf looking at him with disappointed, somber eyes. The door received a much harder shove the second time around.

It was pointless thinking that he could stay, he didn't deserve these friends, this happiness. Desiring it was selfish, foolish; a mistake he had made before, but not one who would ever repeat. Lowtown was finally quiet again, vendors had cleared out their shops and the rhythmic locking of doors had begun in preparation for the pathetic gangs that roamed the area.

“What are you doing out here all by your lonesome Fenris?”

He looked towards the stairs leading to hightown, and she is actually there. Her armor is cheap and whomever she was fighting knew this all too well, it’s pauldrons are ripped and small bandages adequately cover the wounds all over her. He glanced toward her staff and reminded himself of her true nature. It is a tool of oppression, a catalyst for the God delusions of those in Tevinter as well as here. Yet he didn’t fear her, she is most definitely a powerful mage and he is aware of this ability. He sees kindness, perhaps a mischievous glint one too many times but not the ambitious lust for power lacking any semblance of humanity he was so used to. Not only that, but her eyes were paintings of suffering yet they lived with a vital exuberance. He wanted to hold her, to open himself up to her and be intimate in a way he had never done with anyone he had loved before; this would remain a dream though, her true nature forbade the relationship he envisioned on lonesome nights.

Lost in his thought, he didn’t notice the mage grab his arm. On reflex, his markings began to energize once more. He whipped around to her, being met with questioning eyes from her. He forced himself to calm, she didn’t deserve this inseparable anger as of yet. Her glare softened as the glow faded off. Her hand fell from his arm, though she lingered on it for a moment. The two met each other’s gaze and stayed there, searching for something in the other’s eyes. Fenris pulled away first, about to begin an apology; upon looking back he saw only Hawke entering the hanged man.


	6. Carver

Carver had been having a rough day.

Well, more accurately a rough two or so years.

“Mother, i’m going out, i’ll see to it that sister gets home; can’t promise it'll be any anything close to a reasonable time.”

Leandra Hawke sat facing the wall, her hand idly stroking the mabari beneath her. Carver opted to give her a moment, Kirkwalls bureaucracy had killed the fire she had held for restoring the Amell family to their former noble status. Carver had been guiltily hoping she would fail, though he truly wanted to see his mother happy; the thought of people seeing him as just another noble made his stomach churn. He felt awful seeing her like she was, as though his thoughts had been what ruined his mother’s chances at resurrecting her status. He reached a hand out to her shoulder, tension unraveled as she realized who was beside her. She neglected to turn around but offered her non mabari occupied hand in exchange. 

“I’m sorry love, do come home but enjoy yourself.” She rose from the chair, the warmth in her touch and voice departed at the same time. “Stephanie isn’t your responsibility, I doubt she could look after herself, much less you. Didn't do so for Bethany.” The last words were practically spat out of her mouth.

Carver winced at the end of her speech. He, a bit too eagerly perhaps, conceded that his sister was a massive pain, but she was still family. A very annoying, overshadowing part, but still family.

“Let her find comfort and support in whatever company she keeps these days. Do you know I saw her heading into the alienage the other day? Gamlen mentioned that she was with another elf, some brute with tattoos covering his whole self, in high town no less! My daughter, running around with a whore, a dwarven drunk, and an elf! No wonder I can’t get this pitiful family back into the estate.”

Carver stood there stunned while his mother simply sat back into her chair. He and Bethany had picked up on her disdain for their eldest sibling since the passing of their father, he had had no idea it ran so deep though. These thoughts were set aside though, the rewards from the expedition would renew his mother's spirit. Though he was no longer sure if he wanted to bring back that person.


	7. The Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks for reading, this will probably be the second to last chapter of Year one. Again, thanks for stopping by.

"Be careful Hawke, she takes a while to warm up to hands that aren't mine"

Fenris sat at an older table further away from the group of: Varric, Hawke, Isabella, and Merrill. Though he desired to get drunk he found himself wanting to have a clear mind in the company of her. She wasn't exactly a picture of grace, she swayed Bianca back and forth and her walk occasionally contained a stumble or perhaps a trip. Not of his own accord, he chuckled at the thought of catching her next time.

"I have to say Varric, i'm disappointed Bianca thinks so poorly of me."

Anders leaned against the bar. He had considered not coming, there were a few here he didn't particularly enjoy the company of. He didn't want to name names, but the overcompensating swordsmans were pretty high on the list. He turned his head towards a drunken Hawke attempting to aim Varric's crossbow at a crudely drawn picture of sister petrice. He smiled to himself, he missed having friends like these. Even back with the wardens there always a looming sense of both doom and authority, plus all of the actually enjoyable people eventually got split up. Merrill walked up to the bar, heading for the brew once more. She smiled a lopsided, drunk grin at him, he returned the look more quickly than he expected.

Isabela took a break from her drink to chime in, " Maybe she's just excited to finally feel the touch of a woman."

Carver sat at the table nearest the door. The drinks here were piss compared to what he had gotten away with drinking back in Ferelden. Friends back there were truly his, unlike the crowd he ran with most days here. Even when they were with the smugglers, they all looked toward Stephanie and saw him as simply some kind of add on. Adeline and Fenris were all right he supposed. Or Fenris was, before he started giving Stephanie strange looks, which she made no attempt at avoiding. Aveline was all right but she was always so busy and seemed so much older than him. He felt every time he spoke with her that there was simply too heavy a disconnect between the two of them. He glanced over to the table behind Varric, where Isabella and Merrill were seated. Merrill was leaning her head against Isabella, sipping on a freshly poured mug as the two joked to themselves and giggled Stephanie and Varric. Her laughter was so infectious that he found himself chuckling a bit, though he wasn't sure at what.

Varric tossed his drink aside in mock disgust, "Rivaini! Are you suggesting Bianca isn't satisfied with all of this?" One hand gestured down to his chest and further.

Aveline sat further back from them all, a spot where she could observe them all at once. Her glass sat in front of her, only halfway finished. Her trust for Varric and the whore dwindled each coming day. Leaving Hawke alone with them was not something she would let herself do. She sighed, had she always been this wound tight? It had been so much easier with Wesley.

The mechanical 'clink' of Bianca and splintering of wood interrupted the trio. Fenris calmly backed out of his chair as the table in front of him fell with now only two legs attempting to support it.

No, Aveline thought to herself, she was wound just enough.

Aveline stood from her table behind the group, “Perhaps we should call it a night, before Hawke skewers something that bleeds.”

A chorus of groans slothed out of the the front of the tavern. Aveline rolled her eyes, Fenris smirked under his drink, and Anders offered a hearty chuckle.

“Do we really have to invite that ogre of a woman? These kinds of nights really aren't her speed; maybe if we ever need someone to fasten chastity belts to young girls.” Hawke suppressed a laughter at that one, quickly drawing her hand over her mouth as a snort sneaked its way out. She immediately hushed herself, making sure eyes were still on Isabela rather than her. She glared when she noticed Fenris smirking at her. Aveline stared daggers, or my likely blunt objects, at the pirate, fists forming quickly.

“Do we really have to leave already?” Merrill had been silently sipping away her latest drink for the past few minutes, only offering her voice now to protest, “I don't believe i've even gotten ‘drunk’ yet.” Isabella raised her arm, allowing Merrill to sink down into her lap. Not even a moment after this, Merrill popped up; a rather large burp coming out of the tiny girl. She grinned a mouth full of mostly clean teeth, “Ooh, maybe that's a sign that I'm getting there!”

Varric chuckled as he pulled the previously launched bolt from the ground. “Not quite Daisy, you're certainly not lacking in effort though.”

Anders walked away from the bar, “Perhaps we should call it a night, refugees are probably lining up at my door already.” Though he did enjoy the company he kept, or the most part, he was beginning to tire of their drunken antics. He smiled to himself, remembering a certain dwarf who had reached a seemingly nirvana state off drunken stupor.

Carver stood up quickly, knocking aside his chair. “I can take Merrill home, the alienage isn’t far from Gamlen’s.” He stood there, taking in the odd looks from those around him. Merrill smiled at him but she smiled at most everyone.

Anders raised an eyebrow, “Do try to keep it in your pants Templar wannabe.”

Isabella leaned back and laughed at that one, Carvers cheeks turned red. He attempted to sit down but fell back onto the wall after realizing his chair had been knocked away earlier.

“Oh he’s harmless Anders,” Varric said it with a wave of his hand. “He only goes after those who target his weakest armor, his masculinity.” Varric paused, seemingly considering something new. “On second thought, you might want to go ahead and set some glyphs down blondie.”

Carver’s footsteps broke through the laughter. He stomped the door and would’ve left at that moment had his sister no chimed in.

“Do try to avoid any shadows out there brother, they seem to be hazardous to your well being.” Hawke giggled at her own joke, Varric stood to her right providing support in the form of a single healthy ha.

Carver held the door open with a single, very tense hand. He seemed to be mulling something important over, apparently having figured it out he quickly turned to face his sister. “You know Steph, you can keep pretending you have it all together, that all the things you laugh and joke about really don't matter to you. I know you though..”

Stephanie walked over to her brother, amazingly managing to do without tripping over her own feet. He stood his ground but moved himself a safe distance when she got into his face. 

“You really have it all figured out brother? That's why you've been sulking and riding my coat tails for the past almost three years?” She pushed a finger at his chest, though this time he didn't back away. “We can go back and find whatever history there is behind your name, and we can remember that you served in the army back in Ferelden but the truth is that you keep latching on to these things hoping that they will define you, somehow grow a personality for you..”

Carver had apparently had enough, he threw his arms forward with as much force as possible. His sister both drunk and not having expected her rather meek brother to retaliate was thrown onto the tavern floor. Immediately Aveline and Fenris both stood up. Aveline looked sternly at carver, questioning him as to who this display was for while Fenris tended to Hawke. Anders had crouched down as well, surveying the damage to her head. Hawke herself wiped some blood from her mouth, staring angrily at her brother.

Carver rubbed his temples, “If you could just shut up for one moment and realize that not everything is about you sister.” He paced back and forth, hands trembling. “ You think I want to be here? Our home is Ferelden, not this shithole we've been forced to stay in. Yet you've taken it in stride and I think i've figured out why.” He put two hands to the table he was occupying earlier, backing facing Stephanie and crew. “You seem to think I enjoy only being an associate of you, having people remember me simply because I'm related to you.” He muttered something under his breath but no one was able to catch it. “This city fits you sister, broken people all thrown into a pot together and left out to boil. The chaos and blood are intoxicating to you, you revel in the storm. All these people gathered here don’t like you sister. You’re not the glue holding a tough band of friends together, you’re a fucking sinkhole that continues to swallow them hole. They could've been people had they not been sucked into your bullshit.”

Aveline looked incredulously at the boy, Isabella seemed amused, and sometime during his speech Merrill had woken, now looking at him with sad eyes. 

Varric walked over and reached an arm up to Carver’s arm, “Look junior, I get what you're feeling but there's a time and a place and boy did you pick a shit one.”

Carver threw the small arm off of him, whipping around to address the man, “Shove off dwarf, you’re the exact same as her. Only difference is you make money talking in addition to murdering ring any bottom feeder who looks at us he wrong way.” He turned once again to his sister, who had now risen to her feet. She stared defiantly at him, Fenris stood watching her a little ways back. Anders was sitting back in a chair, debating whether he actually should set a glyph down. 

Carver cleared his throat, not satisfied with just that he gave his chest a heavy few pounds. “It's not just the city though Steph, it's you. Ruin follows you everywhere you go. When this expedition is over, I'm finally going to sever myself from you and your fucking orbit of tragedy.” Carver huffed a few times, his breath having left him during his speech. For the first time he noticed Merrill, she looked deeply hurt and was hiding most of her face in Isabella’s stomach. Isabella herself was running her fingers through the young elve's hair and debating whether or not she should cut Carver’s balls off.

Carver turned to the door once more. Footsteps weary this time. He stopped as he held the door open.

“A fucking travesty Bethany never got that option.”

Silence permeated the air. For a moment, the six of them simply sat there, content in not having to address what had just happened. Fenris released them from both the prison and haven though, simply remarking, “Perhaps, now would not be a bad time for all of us to return to our abodes.”

No one argued otherwise.


End file.
